Love is Blindness
by MissMandS
Summary: She is Arwen Undómiel, the beardless angel according to Frerin and hopelessly wishing that circumstances were different. With each passing day she ponders that and wonders just who she is, what she is. Even as she lies in pain, listening to the healers encourage her to breathe she wonders. With each push and cry that leaves her lips she tries to figure it out.


Okay, so this story is going to contain eventual Durincest and does have genderbent characters in it. If this is something you do not enjoy then don't read it. And if you don't like the messed up timelines and extreme canon divergence then remember. This is my story and I can kill off all the character but one if I wanted, bury them in the pet sematary then bring them all back to life. Just because it's my story and I can do whatever I want with it. Anyways, enjoy.

* * *

It feels natural to pick the dwarf up from the pool of blood which he lies in. It feels natural to mount her horse and clutch his body to hers, digging her heels into its sides. The urgency is unspoken but the horse understands and she feels it. With each beat of their hooves into the ground, each snort for breath as they pick up speed she feels it. With each movement that jars the dwarf's body against hers, each groan that escapes his lips. She clutches his body tighter to hers and glances over her shoulder. There is nothing following them as far as she can see, nothing else here other than them.

"We are almost there." She promises the dwarf who attempts to turn his head to look at her. Pale blue eyes loll in their sockets as his head falls forward, brushing against his chin. Hold on, she wants to tell him. Hold on, it won't be long now. They have already crossed the borders and she can hear Lindir calling her name. It will not be long she wants to promise the dwarf until you are safe. But there can be no promises for that when she is unclear on his injuries, on just what his future will hold.

"Lady Arwen? Just what is going on?" Lindir demands as she dismounts, pulling the dwarf down and cradling him to her chest.

"I found this dwarf lying injured. He needs attention lest he die. Where is my father?" Lindir stares at the dwarf in her arms who's stopped groaning but whose eyes continue to loll about in their sockets.

"Take him to the infirmary." Lindir says quietly and just like that the dwarf is gone from her arms, taken by other elves who all rush away. Arwen is left standing there with empty arms and clothes stained with blood.

"You found him lying injured you say? What happened to him?" Lindir asks, coming to stand beside her.

"I cannot be sure. It appeared as if he was attacked by something unexpectedly and was all alone when it happened." She says.

"Do you think orcs came near our border perhaps?" Arwen shakes her head and begins to make her way towards the infirmary.

"No, I do not believe it was an orc." She will ask him when he wakes up, if he wakes up she reminds herself.

Arwen sits outside of the infirmary, listening to the low voices of her father and the others who work over the dwarf. They sound frustrated but not overly worried. There is the occasional sigh and curse until finally her father steps out of the room. The fronts of his clothes are a little bloodied but his expression promises good news.

"The dwarf will live. It would seem that he suffered a bite from a Warg and it was on its way to becoming infected." Arwen stands up, fully intent on seeing the dwarf when her father steps in front of her blocking her view of the room.

"Arwen. I would prefer it if you kept your distance from the dwarf. I imagine that he will want to leave as soon as possible and it's better not to get attached."

"I do not plan on attachment. I merely plan on learning his name and finding out about him." Arwen says and watches his face shift. He hesitates then sighs, shifting ever so slightly to let her by. The other healers are still cleaning up, whispering to themselves as she moves to sit beside the sleeping dwarf. He is what she excepts must be normal for a dwarf: not tall but not as short as a hobbit. His hair is flaxen blonde, thick and long with the occasional braid woven in. His beard is scruffy and framing his lips are two mustache braids. His tunic has been stripped and his chest and stomach wrapped up with bandages. The bandages rest in the hand of a healer who stands on the other side of the bed, clearing their throat awkwardly.

"I can take it from here." Arwen reassures them and takes the bandages. The healer hesitates then walks out of the room, leaving her alone with the dwarf. She's not completely alone though she's sure. Her father is probably lingering outside the room or Lindir, one of the healers, a guard. In the room though, it is just her with the dwarf. He doesn't move except for the steady rise and fall of his chest, the occasional grimace of his face. The dwarf almost looks fearful at one point, as his hand moves to grasp for something, anything to hold onto. So she grabs his hand and talks.

She talks of her brothers, of her father and mother. Of herself on occasion. She asks him about himself and why he was travelling here. What was he doing out there, all alone? She talks to him for three days straight until the dwarf gives a groan, his eyes fluttering open. He licks his dry lips and blinks repeatedly. A slow smile spreads across his face as he lifts her hand to his face, kissing her knuckles.

"Ah, so this is the beardless angel who saved me is it not?" The dwarf's smile quickly turns into a grimace and he drops her hand to grab at his side.

"I am master dwarf. I'll go inform my father that you've awoken." Arwen says and turns only to find him already there in the doorway.

"There will be no need for that Arwen. Here master dwarf I will change your bandages." The dwarf is compliant with her father, sitting up and allowing him to clean the wound and change the bandages. As he does this, he watches Arwen, a small smile on his face.

"May I ask what happened to you master dwarf? My father said it appeared that you were bitten by a Warg." The dwarf winces at this, looking towards the offending wound.

"The creature and its rider snuck up on me while I was sleeping. Warg had taken off after the fight started but came back."

"You are lucky that my daughter found you when she did. Had you laid there I fear the infection would have progressed and claimed you." Her father says, standing up from where he kneels by the dwarf.

"And just what might your daughter's name be?" The dwarf is looking at her as he asks, eyes expectant.

"Arwen Undómiel." She says and earns another smile from the dwarf.

"Frerin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór." She misses the look that crosses her father's face, the way his brow furrows ever so slightly and the way that he straightens up. It all goes unnoticed as she sits down beside Frerin.

* * *

For a week Arwen stays with Frerin. The two walk around Rivendell together and talk. He tells her of Erebor and its grand halls, the beauty that the mountain holds and how someday she must come and see it. He tells her of his siblings, Thorin and Dís. It's during this talk he reveals to her that he's a prince.

"I'm not the heir though, just the spare I guess you could say. Thorin is the one who deals with all the politics along with my grandfather and father. My grandfather and father want Thorin and I to marry off to some dwarf lasses from the Iron Hills."

"Is that why you left? Attempting to get out of marriage?" Arwen asks, only half joking as they walk along together.

"No, not to get out it. Attempting to find some way I can slow things down so that Thorin and I might have some time still to be young. The life of a prince my beardless angel is a short lived one when you're young. It seems as soon as you're born, the midwife takes one look at you, says if you're a boy or girl and then your future is planned." Arwen stops short, leaving Frerin to continue walking ahead of her.

"I guess that when I put it that way, it's more an attempt for myself to find some way to slow things down. So I can find a piece of my own future that's not already planned out for me." Frerin says and turns around to face her.

"And have you?" She asks as he reaches out, taking his hand in hers.

"I would not call it that yet. But it has given me hope as far as elves go." He says and all she can do is laugh at him, tugging her hand away as they resume their walk.

It feels so natural to walk along with him as they go through the gardens, around the training grounds. It feels natural to tease him and jest with him during their talks. When they spar it feels natural to find herself eye to eye with him, chest heaving and sweat pouring down her brow as they hold swords to each other's throats. And when they laugh, pulling the other one up, it feels as natural as breathing.

With each passing day as the naturalness grows her father's disdain for the dwarf only grows. He hovers when they spar, when they walk around the gardens together or when they sit and talk.

"Arwen, the time will come that he will need to leave. Your attachment to each other will not be viewed in the dwarven world as you and Frerin view it. There are differences—cultural and in class. I fear that his family will not allow the friendship to continue."

"Ada there are some things in this world that cannot be understood. Not by you, not by me, not by any of our kind. The attachment I have with Frerin cannot be understood perhaps by you, our kind or the dwarven race. But we understand it. And that is what matters." Arwen says and it feels so natural to walk away and find Frerin, there in the gardens.

"My father does not understand the relationship between us." Arwen says as she sits down. Beside her Frerin smokes his pipe, handing it over to her. The taste of his pipe weed is strong and sour she puffs on it still, enjoying the somewhat bitter taste it leaves behind.

"I don't understand it myself sometimes." Frerin admitted. For a while the two sit together in silence, handing the pipe back and forth. When their hands brush and she feels the spark shoot up her arm Frerin lets out a throaty hum. And it feels natural to lean forward, natural to let her lips brush against his.

He feels foreign to her, scratchy and rough against her lips, her cheeks. Frerin's skin is so very different than any men's of her race and she relishes in each brush against her skin. When she takes the beads from his hair he groans and she feels it deep in his chest. His hands are careful as they touch her hair, as if afraid with one touch she'll fall apart. She wonders if she feels different than any women of his face. If he's been with any women of his race before or her race for that matter. But any of those thoughts are pushed from her head as he nibbles on one of her ears, the stubble scratching gently. Touching his ears doesn't quite garner the same reaction she finds herself stroking, touching and teasing his ears as he slides the straps of her dress down. It feels natural to peel his clothes off him, to allow him to push his dress off her. With each touch, with each kiss Arwen finds herself gasping, sighing, whispering Frerin's name. She wants, needs to touch him more than she is right now. Frerin hovers over her, forehead resting against hers.

"Are you sure about this?" Frerin asks and she's never been surer about anything.

"I am sure." Arwen whispers and with a deep breath and a clutch of his forearms she feels the stretching. It's different, strange and slightly uncomfortable but natural. It feels natural to have him above her, forehead against hers as he waits to move. And when he does, his hips pumping in a steady rhythm she finds herself desperate to move with him. The noises in the air, she realizes with embarrassment are coming from her. And hard as she tries, she cannot keep her mouth clamped shut, cannot stop herself from moaning with each thrust.

She wants to writhe, wants to gasp and scream his name as she finds her way to pleasure. But more than anything, she wants to just be with him and settles for breathy 'ah's' escaping her lips as she tries to warn him of her impending finish only to find Frerin encouraging her to reach it. And when she finds it, gasping and arching her back she cannot stop herself from scratching at his back. Then Frerin finds his and Arwen wonders if it's possible to feel so happy, so warm, and so complete.

For a while the complete feeling, the naturalness and warmth is there. Nothing changes between them other than the occasional wink, hand brushes and sometimes sneaking into the other's room to lay in the others bed. And then the illness begins: the exhaustion and with it the lightheadedness. It's during one of her walks with Frerin that she finds herself dizzy, the garden blurring into a mixture of colors she pitches forward into darkness.

"You are with child." She has never heard her father sound more disappointed than in that moment when she comes to. Arwen looks at her stomach, for any sorts of changes that might have come. There are none she can see, none she can feel except for the uncertainty in her chest. And there is her father, looking down at her with a frown etching his features.

With child. With child by a dwarf. With child by a dwarf who is a prince. Arwen feels sick again and closes her eyes as Frerin enters the room.

"Arwen is everything all right?"

"This is your fault. Because of you my daughter is with child. Tell me do you have any plans on staying in Rivendell? Did you ever have any plans?" Her father's voice is rising with anger and Frerin looks at a loss for what to say, what to do.

"Ada enough. I am sure that we can find a solution." Arwen says and gives Frerin a look. They need to talk. They have to talk. She stands on unsteady feet, grabbing his hand and pulling him away from the room.

"Can we truly be together?" Is the first thing she asks. She wants to know before she asks anything else. Frerin hesitates, looking away from her before he sighs, dropping his gaze.

"I….I am expected to marry a dwarrowdam." His future is laid out in front of him. He is a spare but still the future is ready for him. He has to think of his people.

"Very well then." Arwen says quietly and Frerin looks wounded at her words. There are differences between them, too far to be patched together by children.

"I will stay until the child is born. It will be the honorable thing to do." The honorable thing to do but he will not after.

"You spoke of a gold sickness that lay on your grandfather" Arwen says carefully.

"It was a very long time ago you see and he's not sick anymore."

"Would the presence of a child be able to snap him out of it perhaps?" Frerin's eyes widen and he opens his mouth to object only to be cut off by Arwen.

"You went looking for an attempt so that you could still stay young." Arwen says and he snaps his jaw shut. She doesn't say that she worries she cannot do this on her own. That she's scared of how to do it. That she doesn't want to live the rest of her days knowing her father is disappointed in her.

"It would not be a child of pure blood." Frerin says quietly.

"I know. What you tell them and how much they know is your choice Frerin." Arwen says and with a squeeze of his hand walks away.

True to his word Frerin stays as her stomach grows, stretching and swelling with each month that passes. Arwen watches with interest as the skin stretches tighter and tighter, as the child inside of her rolls, stretches and on occasion gives a kick strong enough to make tears come to her eyes.

"Don't hurt your," Frerin trails off, hand on her stomach after a particularly hard kick. Arwen gives him a weak smile.

"I'm not quite sure what I am." She is Arwen Undómiel, the beardless angel according to Frerin and hopelessly wishing that circumstances were different. With each passing day she ponders that and wonders just who she is, what she is. Even as she lies in pain, listening to the healers encourage her to breathe she wonders. With each push and cry that leaves her lips she tries to figure it out. And when that cry shatters the air, when she hears the quiet voice of a healer announce it's a boy she closes her eyes.

It's over she thinks and nearly sighs until the pain is back and they're encouraging her to push again, encouraging her to breathe. Gripping the sheets with a sheen of sweat and teeth gritting she almost screams along with the baby.

"A girl." The healer announces with wonder as they lay the baby on her chest. The baby is there for mere moments until the healers remove her, whisking her off. Arwen lies there as the healers tend to her, looking towards the babies who are being cleaned.

The boy is Frerin's without a doubt. He is bigger than an elven baby, arms and legs kicking furiously as he squalls with fury. Covering his head is golden blonde fuzz, soft and light. His nose is almost too large for his face, another dwarven trait.

The girl is small and Arwen thinks it's a wonder that she made it all that time in the womb. But her cries are eager and strong. Her head is not covered with fuzz but thick, dark hair already curling at the nape of her neck.

"They are beautiful." Arwen looks up with a start to see her father come to stand beside her.

"Yes, they are." She agrees.

"Arwen, he leaves tomorrow. I have promised to send the child with a group of guards and healers who will take him by the safest road back to Erebor. After a month," His sentence goes unfinished but she knows what he means.

"The boy, he looks like Frerin. Ada, they will accept him." Arwen says and her eyes flicker towards the girl, eager and strong but so elf like.

"What do I tell him?" Her father asks as the healers swaddle the baby boy in blankets.

"Twins but the girl was stillborn." Arwen says and watches as they hand over the now swaddled newborn to her father.

"Very well." Her father sighs and steps out of the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. Arwen listens to the quiet hum of her father's voice as the healers put the baby girl in her arms.

"Stillborn?" Frerin's voice floats down the hallway.

"I am sorry to say." Arwen holds the baby a little closer to her chest as her father's voice grows lower. For a while she sits there in the bed, staring down at the little girl who blinks and squints up at her. One by one the healers slip from the room until the last healer steps out. As the doors preparing to close she hears Frerin.

"Fili." And his steady voice begins humming a lullaby. It falters, shakes and then he stops completely as he sobs.

"And Kili." And she sings a song of loss.

* * *

This whole story was born because of a conversation between my best friend and I about best friend tattoos, Aidan Turner and Dean O'Gorman. She said something about they could be her children from the future (we were looking at pictures of Fili and Kili for inspiration for tattoos) and I said something about seeing them being Arwen's children.

The idea was kinda tossed aside though until today and I am like a rabid animal, so excited to write this. I hadn't planned on posting this on my Fanfiction account but we will see how things go. If I recieve flames then I'll take it down but leave it up on my aO3 account. Anyways, enjoy.

All the forbidden Durin love!

Also I do plan on other pairings for this story besides Fili and Kili. It won't be Bagginshield or Boffins. No offense to anyone who enjoys them, Boffins is my OTP but I'm going to be trying and playing around with some new pairings for this story.


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